Ice ice baby

Ginger burns so hot the room feels short of air. She needs something to cool her down. Ice does the trick, but not the way you think. She runs a cube along her collarbone, watches the water slide between her breasts, and smiles like she just found a secret. The lingerie still clings, barely, until she decides to peel one strap lower. A second cube joins the first, circling a nipple until it stands stiff against the lace. She presses the melting ice lower, tracing a wet path over her stomach, pausing just above the band of her panties. Her breath catches each time the cold bites. She spreads her legs a little wider on the sheets, hips rolling as if the ice were a fingertip. One hand guides the cube in lazy circles over the thin fabric, pressing until the silk turns transparent. The other hand teases her breast, rolling the peak between two fingers. She lingers there, every inch of skin glistening, until the ice is gone and her own heat has won again.